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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808028">Newspaper Blues</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/newskyillusion/pseuds/newskyillusion'>newskyillusion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Geralt is a journalist, Get Together, Going Viral, Jaskier is a music journalist, Jaskier is dumb, Journalist AU, M/M, Modern Era, going viral and not in a good way, nobody asked for this AU yet here we are</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:14:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/newskyillusion/pseuds/newskyillusion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Working in the industry as a music journalist is tough, more so if your co-worker is one of the most famous journalists himself, is handsome and asks you for a favour. </p><p>That's the dice that life has thrown to Jaskier, but at least the man knows that when you get lemons you should made a god damn lemonade out of them.</p><p>And that's what he will do. When he gets all the clues. Or if.</p><p>Will become explicit, will warn when that happens.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>212</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The first favour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Heads up, the tags have been updated!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier knew few things very well but those things currently were:</p><p>One, that the new album of his favourite band would flop commercially but critics would eat it up like ice cream on a sweltering day.</p><p>Two, if he didn’t get that song from the fantasy TV series on Netflix out of his head in the next few days he was ready for some drastic measures.</p><p>And, finally, three: that leather jacket on Geralt was definitely too tight and by god he couldn’t stop staring.</p><p>Where did he get it, when punk rock was still alive? He thought, twirling his pencil between his fingers, trying not to take it and snap it in half. Geralt was sitting just a few desks away, his white hair up in a haphazardly made ponytail and was squinting at his monitor as if it offended his mother, or worse, took his lunch away. Jaskier would have laughed if Geralt wasn’t staring at his screen like that for the last ten minutes.</p><p>“Is he alright?” he turned towards Triss who was trying to piece together an article about the latest craze of two step make-up removal, and glared at him from behind her thick, designer glasses and then at Geralt.</p><p>“Oh, constantly. Wait until he starts to write, it’s like watching a grandpa typing a question into facebook thinking it’s google,” she said, looked back at her tablet and angrily closed her writing app. “He gets like that when he has a big deadline.”</p><p>Jaskier made a hmmm noise in agreement, his eyes never leaving Geralt for less than a few seconds. He was a phenomena of sorts in the office; the old school journalist who went out and about, literally chasing the topics of his articles throughout the whole city and then some, but when he was in the building he never made anybody feel like they were less of a journalist just because they wrote the horoscope column like Eskiel did. On the outside, it seemed, he was the man’s man, with his many leather jackets — and leather jackets Jaskier knew very well — faded jeans and biker’s boots. He talked in short sentences and hums rather than words but he never gave shit to the other journalist’s, knew the names of the cleaning ladies and always said hello to them and asked them about their life, and truthfully? Jaskier was puzzled and intrigued and it was a bad combination.</p><p>“Stop mooning over him and get back to work,” he heard Triss on his right and felt heat prickling his ears. “Don’t you have an album to review or something?”</p><p>He gave a dramatic sigh and put his glasses from his nose onto his desk and twirled in his chair like a bored child. “Yes, I do, I have, but how do you write ‘it was utter shit’ in a thousand words?” He closed his eyes and tried not to think about all the angry tweets he was going to get after the piece was published. The newest album by a legendary American group was like eating stale bread and trying to wash the after taste with first, a sour milk and then a coca cola that was left open for like a week. After the last song he wanted to throw the CD to the rubbish and had to cleanse his pallet with some good kpop song because man, disappointment wasn’t even it.</p><p>“I hope,” said a voice, sweet and soft and Jaskier stilled with his face still in his hands. “That that was a rhetorical question?”</p><p>Jaskier lifted his head slowly, swallowing, until his eyes met the violet irises of his head editor, Yennefer who ruled the Daily Novigrad with a steel fist. There were no excuses — except death, that is — that would make somebody miss a deadline under her supervision and you were either a part of the team or out of the newspaper. Jaskier liked that about Yennefer, that she took no shit whatsoever from other people — especially male editors — and the black-haired woman was a force to be reckoned with in the newspaper world.</p><p>And as she stared at him, her gaze unflinching from behind her black rimmed glasses Jaskier felt a nervous laugh bubble in his throat.</p><p>“Of course it was a rhetorical question: I am a professional.” He nodded as he spoke but Yennefer’s face did not change from mild interest to anything other than that.</p><p>“Good. I hope you remembered that. That new album, the one that’s getting trending on Twitter with each new snippet, is it any good?”</p><p>Jaskier thought about lying, thought about just nodding, but knew better. “It’s utter shit, sorry to say.”</p><p>Yennefer nodded, once. “Alright, then write a proper review. Trash it, if you must, do not lie to our readers, they’re not morons. Triss,” her eyes fell on the redhead who didn’t even flinch under her stare. “Did you get the PR boxes?”</p><p>“No, thankfully, they didn’t send any, just the products.”</p><p>“Good,” said Yennfer and looked through something she had on her iPad. “Did you get the new Fenty lipsticks?”</p><p>“Yes, do you want a set? I got all of them in pre order but they sent me a PR package.”</p><p>“If you could.” Yennefer gave a small smile and Triss wrote something down on her phone.</p><p>“Done, I’ll bring them tomorrow to the office. Did you read my review of the launch of the Ordinary's newest...”</p><p>Jaskier tuned the two women out, not because the beauty stuff wasn’t interesting but in that moment, when Triss and Yennefer started chatting about lipstick and some new organic brand that was affordable and local and could be put as a spotlight in the next article, he saw in the corner of his eye a movement near Geralt’s desk.</p><p>The man was focused as he typed letter by letter on his laptop, one finger at a time and it truly was like watching an elderly trying to type for the first time.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He did not understand why his colleagues were so vocal about the quality of coffee in the kitchen. Yes, it was shit and most of the journalists brought their own hipster blends and other things that looked rather expensive and, well, pretentious as hell. He, on the other hand, did not care if his coffee was top shelf or not as he always killed its taste with at least three spoons of sugar and a buttload of milk. It was a hot sugary drink at best and at worst of the worst his teaspoon could stand straight in his mug. It was usually when a big deadline was looming over him and he was spending definitely too much time in the office.</p><p>It happened once after he got back from Coachella and two major artists dropped their albums as a surprise in the span of a day, there was a new Netflix documentary series about Beyonce and he had to review all of it in a week. It was not a fun time but just as he fondly listened to Beyonce his foot would never again step near Coachella. He was too old for that shit.</p><p>Jaskier was standing by the microwave waiting for his coffee to reheat when a polite but rather loud grunt made him look up from scrolling his Twitter.</p><p>Geralt was standing just a few steps before him, his arms crossed in front of his chest and the man did bring the guns to the office because, damn, those arms…</p><p>Jaskier felt heat cruising up his neck and looked up to Geralt’s yellow eyes — there were rumours that it was a present from one of topics of his groundbreaking articles on mafia in the city but Jaskier never remembered which one — staring at him as if he saw everything, all the dirty thoughts and times he googled Geralt’s articles and marvel how a man looking like that can also write so fucking good.</p><p>“I have a favor to ask,” was what Geralt said and Jaskier paused.</p><p>Ok, that was not what he imagined Geralt saying to him. Maybe something like “move” or “hi” but not this.</p><p>“Um, yes?”</p><p>Geralt shuffled his feet left and right and Jaskier frowned for a second before Geralt opened his mouth. “There is this band that’s going to be playing in the city but I couldn’t get the tickets. I wondered if you could. It’s supposed to be a birthday gift for my daughter.” He added after a heart beat and in that moment the microwave beeped and Jaskier nearly jumped out of his skin.</p><p>The white-haired man's voice was surprisingly smooth, but a little bit rough: not sandpaper rough, although, it was not smooth all the way like some voices. Yennefer’s had a silky quality to it and more than once her listeners agreed to the things she said without even comprehending what she was telling them. Triss’ voice had an edge, a sharp and crisp quality and if she ever decided to quit writing she had a career in podcasting.</p><p>Geralt’s voice was one Jaskier mentally catalogued as “intriguing”. He had to hear more of it to properly give his opinion on it.</p><p>“A band, you say? Which one?”</p><p>“Perperuna,” said Geralt without a hint of an accent and Jaskier froze pulling his hot mug out of the microwave.</p><p>“That slavic metal band? The one that’s famous for tearing up the Bible? You aren’t serious?!”</p><p>Geralt sighed and touched the bridge of his nose in silent contemplation.</p><p>“I wish I wasn’t. But Ciri has been obsessed with them for over a year, she loves the main vocalist and wants to be just like her, whatever that means, and it’s her sixteenth birthday, so.” He shrugged kinda helplessly. “The tickets sold out in fifteen minutes and I was… somewhere without access to the internet.”</p><p>Jaskier hummed a low note as he stirred his morning coffee that turned out to be also his afternoon’s “Parperuna, you say? That might be a tricky one, but I will try,” he said earnestly and was awarded with a crooked smile.</p><p>His coffee seemed way too hot in that moment and he might have burned his tongue a little bit.</p><p>“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”</p><p>“No worries,” Jaskier gave Geralt his most charming smile and put his hand on the other man's arm and was instantly rewarded with a flex of his muscles and damn. “I will try, that I can promise.”</p><p>Geralt seemed to relax after the second sentence and did not throw a punch Jaskier’s way, however, he thought that he got really close to it when he touched Geralt's arm.</p><p>“Thanks,” said Geralt just as Jaskier squeezed his arm for good measure — the muscles! — and let go.</p><p>“No problem. Does that mean you owe me a favor?”</p><p>“That’s how those things work.”</p><p>Jaskier barked a laugh but a smile never left his place.</p><p>“Well, then. It seems we have a deal. Sorry, gotta run: have a deadline for a review and I still have to come up with at least three hundred more words to describe ‘shit’, so, toodles!”</p><p>Leaving the kitchen Jaskier did not look back: it was the second thing he was proud that day appart from finally finishing that fucking review and sending it to edits.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The next day he came into the office, booted up his computer and was welcomed by an email from the editor — his review was fine, slightly too ironic but that could be edited out — and to one from Parperuna’s American manager, Sara. He asked, in a polite and professional way, if there was a possibility of getting tickets to their latest, sold out concert to which Sara replied: sure thing, thank you for covering it for the paper!</p><p>Jaskier stared at his screen, his mouth hidden behind his hand with an utterly empty head. Shit, he did not think about that, was his email too professional and too polite? He sighed, deeply and was about to click ‘Reply’ when a chain in front of him squeaked; Jaskier looked up and saw Geralt sitting in his chair, his leather jacket draped across the back of it and he was just casually rolling up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt and damn if Jaskier wasn’t a weak man. </p><p>He scraped the email he wanted to reply with, and wrote another one:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi Sara,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thank you for such a quick reply! Yes, we are in the process of highlighting new artists from genres that our readers might not be familiar with and Parperuna was our first choice so your email is a blessing. Also, would it be possible to make that three tickets? One of my friends is really excited that you guys are coming into town but he wasn’t fast enough with the sale. Hopefully it’s alright? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier hesitated, deleted the last sentence and wrote:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One of my friends’ daughter is obsessed with your band but he was too slow with the ticket sale — you guys sold out so fast, congrats! — and it was supposed to be her birthday gift so I thought about inviting them along with me, if that’s alright with you guys?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thanks Sara, once again, you’re a treasure!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Jaskier.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Pulling out the birthday card was a low blow to be sure, but he had no standards and beside, if Geralt wanted those tickets he would get them. Now he only had to persuade Yennefer to actually approve an article about highlighting artists from generess unknown to their readers and he would be set.</p><p>He did not feel as confident in Yennefer’s office, while she scanned his proposal and he sat in front of her impressive, mahogany desk. The monster weighed probably more than all the office furniture that the journalist used but he would never voice his thought out loud. He respected Yennefer as a woman, an editor and frankly he was simply too afraid of her.</p><p>“So,” she said, looking at him from his tablet and handing it back to him. “You want to start a series of articles about these new genres that have sprung up and have been mostly avoided by the big presses?”</p><p>Jaskier nodded, his palms sweaty.</p><p>“Does this have anything to do with the fact that Geralt asked you to get two tickets for Parperuna?”</p><p>He opened his mouth and closed it, and opened it again while Yennfer looked at him with a sly smile and a perfect eyebrow raised up. “I am the head editor here. It's my job to know what goes inside my office. And beside,” she leaned back in her chair and took off her glasses. “He first came to me and I sent him to you.”</p><p>Jaskier gaped at her. “You…”</p><p>Yennefer laughed. “No, you need to get laid.” She pointed her glasses at him, his mouth still open in shock. “And I love Geralt dearly and Ciri too but let’s be honest: you have hots for him and I just want you both to be happy.” She shrugged. “And I have a bet with Triss going when will you finally go to bed; she bet on Christmas and I said late Summer, so chop chop my boy I want that two hundred dollars!”</p><p>Of course she gave him the green light for the articles. She also pointed out that if they weren’t up to her and the newspapers standards he would better find a new job, because being a matchmaker was one thing but being a head editor was much more important. As much as she liked him and his writing she would not give her head on a golden plate to the shareholders if he produced shit.</p><p>Which hurt him, professionally and personally because Jaskier did not produce shit, ever. Well, maybe when he was younger and before the accident when he could play more than a few chords, but still. His songs were fine, his singing was fine and to even imply that his stuff would or was ever shit was just lies and slander.</p><p>It did not stop Jaskier from diving into the internet to find everything he could on Parperuna’s: their style, their inspiration, their history. He blinked and it was midday, he blinked again and it was evening; his eyes were probably red and he could feel the itching that started each time he forgot to put his glasses on when he starred at the monitor for long periods of time. Jaskier sighed and rubbed them and finally put the glasses on when he heard Geralt’s voice “Hello Gretchen, how are you today?”</p><p>Jaskier looked around and found the office empty, the desk of his treacherous friend Triss cold and abandoned. The only people in the nearest vicinity were him, Geralt, Gretchen the very nice cleaning lady and he could hear very rapid strikes of fingers on a mechanical keyboard and he peaked left and yes; Lambert was writing something furiously, his head bent and wireless headphones on.</p><p>Jaskier turned towards Geralt who nodded to whatever Gretchen had said. When the woman turned and started walking towards where her hoover was the white-haired man caught Jaskier’s look and raised an eyebrow. “You done?”</p><p>He nodded, like a damn fool he was, just as Geralt picked his leather jacket from the back of his chair and started to put in on. “Alright, then let’s go.”</p><p>Let’s go? Jaskier wanted to ask, scrambling for his lavender vintage bombardier jacked which he threw on himself haphazardly because Geralt was walking towards the elevators, fast. He grabbed his shoulder bag from the floor and his phone from the desk and nearly ran towards the slowly opening, metal door. He stepped in just as Geralt was pushing “0” on the panel.</p><p>“I think I will get you the tickets for Parperuna, but,” he said as the elevator started to move. “There is a catch.”</p><p>In response Geralt <em>hmmed</em> and raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Well, I kind of let their manager on that I will write an article on the concert… Don’t worry,” he added quickly, seeing Geralt’s questioning look. “I will, I approved it with Yen, don’t worry. So, I’ll have to go with you. You know, we will have to meet at the front door and enter together and all that… if that’s ok with you?”</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “That seems only fair.”</p><p>As if a weight had been lifted from Jaskier’s arms he straightened and beamed at the other man. “That’s great then! If I have any more info I’ll let you know.” The elevator stopped just then and Jaskier glanced at his watch when the doors started to open. “Gotta run, my train leaves in six minutes. Bye!” He said and waved at Geralt and broke into a run leaving the other man in the elevator, unmoving and alone.</p><p>At home he checked his email box:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hi Jaskier,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Absolutely no problem! We would be delighted to have you and your friends at our concert. I’ll talk to the band and maybe wrestle some face to face time with them as a birthday gift? Just tell your name at the front door and they’ll let you in.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Regards,</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sara.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Jaskier promised: he had the tickets. And a suprise, for Ciri and Geralt.</p><p>What happens during a slavic pagan rock concert stays at a slavic pagan rock concert.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was not a picky eater, never was. Jakier ate everything that was put in front of him, be it his grandmother’s pierogis, his mother’s high end steak or his sisters mashed potatoes with eggs. He thought about that looking at the clothes splayed on his bed as he massaged his temples, trying not to think and failing at it miserably. </p><p> </p><p>What was he supposed to do, to think? He knew that even though most of the people said “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” with fake smiles plastered on their face, they did definitely judge people by what they wore. And he knew that first impressions mattered but there was a fine line between coaxing your coworker into your bed with a crop top and highwaisted jeans he wanted to wear and wearing a sensible, plain burgundy t-shirt, dark trousers and a button up jacket that fit him nicely and still screamed “I am here to work and not to flirt!”</p><p>He hid his face in his hands. It was what he was trying to tell his brain: that this was strictly business, a favour to a colleague he found very hot and totally his type. Geralt was going to be there with his daughter for Christ sake! But the part of him that made him sometimes smile a little to widely at other people, flirt too freely, look at others from underneath his lashes, that part stormed out fully clothed, sparlinkg with glitter, ready to party and fuck shit up, literaly.  </p><p>Jaskier took the crop top and high waisted jeans and threw the outfit that has never ever failed him to the open cupboards of his dresser and nodded looking at the sensible outfit. </p><p> </p><p>And as he walked closer to the venue he cursed himself silently as it looked like he was one of the most underdressed people that was going to be at the concert and anyway, why did it even matter? He was there to work and to not flirt, he told himself as he walked out the corner eyeing the queue that was wrapping round the building. As he passed people wearing mixes of blacks and whites, pentagrams and various nordic symbols around their neck, soft flower crowns and studs that could take an eye out, his eyes fell on a familiar white haired man and damn did that man know how to wear a leather jacket well. And the boots in which he tucked the dark jeans? Sinful, was what Jaskier would say if anybody here asked him.</p><p>But what drew his eyes next was a happy face of a girl, ginning widely, looking at the entrance, her ashen hair pulled into a tight bun, green eyes dusted with darker eyeshadow and an eyeliner, who bounced like a ball around the stoic man. Geralt’s eyes were focused on the girl but he darted glances at the people who slowly came through the door. A soft smile was tugging at his lips and Jaskier had to adjust his jacket and felt his mouth go dry as the yellow eyes fell on him. His hand shot up and he waved at the man who made a polite wave back just as the bouncing ball of happiness stopped beside him, eyeing him curiously. </p><p>“Hi,” he said, a nervous smile on his lips, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. The girl tilted her head left and gave him a cautious smile back.</p><p>“Hi.” Said Geralt simply, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. “That’s Ciri.”</p><p>Jaskier looked into her green eyes which were sparkling with excitement, gave her a nod and a wink. “You ready to go in?”</p><p>Ciri bounced on her heels.</p><p>“Yees!! I am their biggest fan, I have all the CDs and the DVDs…” she started, moving towards the second, much smaller line to which Geralt steered her, an arm still splayned on her shoulder. He looked at Jaskier then and from his tired expression he read that Ciri wasn’t the only one listening to Parperuna at their house, all day and all night. Jaskier couldn’t contain his smile which earned him a <em> hmm </em> from the other man and a raised eyebrow. </p><p>Jaskier introduced himself to the security guy when they reached him in the VIP line and walked to the venue. It was quite a big one for such an indie band, that could accommodate for up to three thousand people. With a long bar at one end and the stage at the other Jaskier suddenly felt a feeling of deja vu creeping up his spine. Suddenly he was at least a decade younger, could still hold a guitar without his wrist aching like a bitch, and was looking from the backstage at a slowly filling space before the stage with the same feeling of small sparks of electricity flowing through his body. He licked his lips and instinctively beelined for the bar, his hands suddenly sweaty. </p><p>The hell, he thought, as he rested his elbows on the bar an mentally went through the pros and cons of drinking. He didn’t feel Geralt standing next to him until he turned towards the stage with a beer in his hand and nearly knocked the white haired man’s bottle of soda from his hands. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said lamely and looked for Ciri.</p><p>“She’s there,” said Geralt, pointing with his bottle at the crowd before them and sure enough Jaskier caught light hair decisively lower than most people gathered here as she disappeared in the group. “She’s gonna be fine, saw her friend and went with her. Not worried about her.” Said Geralt before Jaskier could ask, so he closed his lips and leaned his back on the bar.</p><p>“So, how many times did she make you watch their last MV?” He asked teasingly, and was rewarded with a low growl from Geralt.</p><p>“To many. But I indulged her and nodded when necessary, I think, because she played it at least a dozen more times.”</p><p>“I gather not your type of music?” Asked Jaskier, nodding towards the scene, sipping on his bear.</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “They’re fine. Just, you know.” He took a sip from his bottle, thinking about an answer. Jaskier didn’t rush him, didn’t finish for him; he let Geralt swallow and only watched his Adam’s apple bob for a second. “Not my type.”</p><p>“And what is your type. No!” Jaskier turned fully towards Geralt. “Let me guess!” He added, to which Geralt huffed a laugh, but with a noncommittal wave let Jaskier muse outloud. “So, judging by all the leather, and may I add that I need to get the address of the store because you have very good tastes in leather jackets, I would say that you prefer something less folk and more rock? Correct? Or,” he didn’t let Geralt make any sound as he continued, watching the other man intently. To his credit he took it all, didn’t fidget, just returned the curious look. “Even more rock than rock? Would say Metallica but that seems to be too obvious and I haven’t seen you in any band t-shirt at work, so that’s a dead end?” </p><p>Geralt smirked and took another sip from his bottle.</p><p>“Fine,” Jaskier rolled his eyes theatrically. “You don’t make it easy but my bet is on the classics: Queen with a dash of The Darkness?” He asked to which Geralt laughed. He was about to say something but the lights dimmed and the crowd in front of the stage cheered as both of them turned their attention in front of them; Jaskier more to the stage than Geralt.</p><p>He shivered, when he felt Geralt’s voice close to his ear just as the lights on the stage went totally dark. “You were right about the dash, but it was the wrong kind. I like my music how I like my partners: versatile and ambitious like David Bowie and with a heart of Kate Bush.”</p><p>Jaskier could swear he felt his cheeks growing hot as Geralt moved to his previous place, away from him and if he could he would hold his cold beer tighter, but the band was slowly filling up the stage to the screams of excited fans and he was a professional after all with a job to do. And he didn’t miss the warmth of Geralt’s breath on his ear and by god, he didn’t want his brain to go that way, so he took a sip of his bear and tried to relax.</p><p>Which was made very difficult by the man next to him radiating heat which Jaskier couldn't ignore. </p><p>He did focus once the music started: it took him deep underneath the Baltic sea. We could feel the breeze on his face, the sand between his teeth and the smell of rain that’s just about to fall down. Parperuna was a good indie band but did they shine on the stage, the female vocalist painted in swirls of green paint, wearing what could be a horse skull from the distance. She looks fearcless, a small woman jumping up and down, hands beating on her tights to the rhythm of the drums. Jaskier saw, maybe, what Ciri saw in her; the fierceness, the sheer power that emanated from her even thought she was small and looked fragile. </p><p>Parperuna played almost all the tracks from their newest album and was about to step on the stage for the second encore, the ground under Jaskier’s feet trembling with people’s claps and cheer when he remembered something.</p><p>“Shit, I forgot,” she said, putting on the bar the empty and warm beer glass and turning towards Geralt who was already looking his way. “So, I might have said in my email that I’m going to be with a friend and it’s his daughter's birthday. Because of that I have snagged us some access to the band after the show, if you allow Ciri of course.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyebrows shut up and Jaskier had to bit his lower lip to stop himself from barking a laugh.</p><p>“Yes, Ciri would love that.”</p><p>“Great, then break the news to her, will ya? I am all for attention but it’s your job to take care of the screams.”</p><p>Geralt was silent for a few seconds. “Have you ever met a teenager in your life?”</p><p>“Thankfully no. I have a couple years of freedom with my nieces and nephews and I intend to keep away from them as much as possible when they hit puberty.”</p><p>“It won’t happen when they figure out that all they have to do to get free concert tickets is to bat their eyelashes.”</p><p>“Hey, excuse me,” Jaskier’s hand felt to his heart in an exaggerated offense. “You did not have to bat your eyelashes!”</p><p>Geralt huffed a laugh “Then that means that you don’t stand a chance with your nieces and nephews.”</p><p>There were many comebacks in Jaskier’s head, one more lewd than the other but all that he was able to say was a quiet “Shut up,” which made the other man laugh, the sound rich and hearty like his grandmother’s best dish that could warm his heart and soul even on the dampest and darkest day.</p><p> </p><p>A few minutes later Ciri found them, cheeks red, hair clinging to her forehead, makeup smudged on her eyes. But oh, the green in them reminded Jaskier of moss sparkling with fresh droplets of dew in the slowly rising sun.</p><p>“Dad!” Ciri nearly screamed, her listening not adjusted yet to the fact that music actually stopped playing. “Have you seen that oh my god that was so cool!”</p><p>Geralt ruffled her hair with such a soft look on his normally grumpy face that Jaskier had to make a double take. He saw the white haired man smiling, in the kitchen or when he was talking with Yen, but this right here was the single most beautiful thing he saw, the barely pertecable dimples, the lines near his eyes.</p><p>“I have one more surprise for you.”</p><p>Ciri jumped in the air. “What, what?! Are we going for a cake?!”</p><p>“Even better. You ready to meet Parperuna in person?”</p><p>The silence that fell between the three of them was deafening, but not a bad one. Ciri hid her open mouth in her hand and tears started filling her eyes. “Are you shitting me?!”</p><p>“Language.” Was all what Geralt said and Jaskier could swear that his cheeks were slightly flushed.</p><p>“I’m… going… to meet… Aaa!” Screamed the girl and launched herself at Geralt who caught her effortlessly. His eyes found Jaskier just as Ciri started to chant “ohmygodohmygod” into Geralt’s neck and the younger man mouthed “told you so” and made a theatrical step back.</p><p>“I’m not the person who you should be thanking.” Was all that Geralt said before Jaskier felt a small body crushing into him and nearly colliding into the bar behind him as the girl started to chant excitedly “thankyouthankyouthankyou” into his stomach.</p><p>Geralt gave him a half assed smile as an award when Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder awkwardly. </p><p>Asshole. </p><p>When Ciri finally peeled herself off of Jaskier the three of them found Sara, the band’s manager and thus happened one of the strangest encounters with a band that Jaskier had. Ciri vibrated with emotion, the grin on her face nearly splitting it in half while Jaskier tried to conduct a professional conversation with Sara and the band while simultaneously being a photographer to a excited teenager, her handsome but slightly grouffy dad and Parperuna who was more than happy to meet an excited fan. </p><p>They left the venue after an hour and a half, the girl between the two men grabbing tightly the signed merch that Jaskier thought would not leave her grubby hands even in deep sleep. As they emerged from the corner of the block Jaskier stopped. “I hope you had a good time.” He said to the girl who nodded. </p><p>“It was the best, thank you so much you’re the beeest!” She sang, hugging the signed poster, t-shirt and every CD Parperuna has ever realised. </p><p>Jaskier laughed at that as Geralt scooped his daughter closer.</p><p>“Thank you, it was really nice of you to…” He was saying but Jaskier just waved his hand. </p><p>“No problem, really. It was my pleasure. Hope you sleep tight and Ciri promise me not to listen to all the CDs too loudly, ok? Your old man might have problems with falling asleep!”</p><p>Ciri laughed at that and Geralt frowned, offended. </p><p>“I’m not old.” Said Geralt.</p><p>“I won’t,” said Ciri, crossing her heart with her right pinky finger. </p><p>“Good to hear that. My stop is a few blocks this way, so I’ll be going,” he was about to cross the street when a hand grasped his biceps. He stared at it and then at Geralt who was holding him and so close he could practically feel the smell of melon soda on his face.</p><p>“Your phone.”</p><p>“Pardon me?”</p><p>Geralt blinked and let him go. “Give me your phone so I know you got home safely.”</p><p>“Oh, alright,” Jaskier said simply and waited for the other man to fish his smartphone from the depth of his jeans pocket. He gave him his number, waved to Ciri, nodded to Geralt, and crossed the street.</p><p> </p><p>At home, when he was opening his laptop to note down his thoughts before they flapped away like scared bats a chime interrupted.</p><p><em> We’re home. </em> Said the message and Jaskier had to laugh.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Me too *biceps flex emoji*. Hope you have soundproof walls it’s gonna be hard for you. My thoughts are with u *praying hands emoji*</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> She already started blasting the albums. I am doomed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> *laughing and crying face emoji x5* </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's the chapter two! Thank you for all the comments, they really made me write faster. Hopefully you liked this one too!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Updated the tags a little bit, heads up!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been up since five and I don’t think she stopped playing Papreruna. How do I make her stop?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was the text Jaskier received from Geralt two days later on a sunny Sunday morning. He turned in his bed and blindly grabbed his phone and had to blink several times to get the screen into focus. They exchanged few messages since his </span>
  <em>
    <span>*laughing and crying face emoji x5*. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier asked if Geralt still could hear his own thoughts being an old man and all that, while Geralt replied with dry humor Jaskier wasn’t expecting, but found himself snickering at the screen on his phone. When on Sunday he sat in his bed yawning, still clutching the phone in his right hand and focused again, he smiled and bit his lower lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry it’s a lost cause just buy good noise canceling headphones and call it a day. Also why tf were you up at five am whyyyyyy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wrote back and scrolled through the other unread texts. There was one from Yen that basically greenlit his profile on Parperuna’s concert which he sent her on Saturday — she replied at two in the morning on a Sunday and Jaskier was sure that that woman didn’t know what sleep was — but the other message caught his eye. His younger sister, Mary or Marysia if you wanted to piss her off which he did all the time, send him a text near midnight:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sooo, can I ask you for a favour?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier furrowed his brows. Mary prefered to call, almost never texted, except maybe thumbs up — she was weird like that, being younger than him but preferring to actually talk through the phone like a savage — so to say that this text was unusual was like saying that putting salt on a wound would hurt like a bitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey what’s uppp what do you need??</span>
  </em>
  <span> He wrote, yawed again and scratched his unshaved chin. He spend the last days furiously writing and editing one review that would go live this week — he was worried that he might have been too critical of the new album by the much beloved American band, but if only kpop from the early 2000s’ could soothe his sore soul after finishing this shitty album he could damn well be salty as hell — and writing up Parperuna’s concert. He used to get swept away by work and forgot to, well, shave. And he forgot to shower judging by the way his old AC/DC t-shirt, which he used as a pijamas, smelled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, yawned again and stretched his arms out, his bones clicking in place and Jaskier sighed contentedly. Barefoot he walked to his small kitchen and made himself some coffee and a huge mug of tea. While he was pouring the hot water over the teabag his phone, which he placed on the counter, chimed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re still working for that newspaper, right? I might need a favour and arrange an interview with one of your coworkers for my thesis. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier frowned. Mary was an avid scholar and unlike him she didn’t have to have knowledge beaten into her. She excelled at studying and working in academia was her goal; the thesis was like a baby to her, on a complicated subject he always mixed up or forgot. He frowned, thinking which of his coworkers she might need to interview. Maybe Yennefer? She was probably the most badass of them all, if he was to be honest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>lol those losers? sure which one do you want?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He replied and with two mugs in hands went to his living room. It was a cozy place that looked like a nest of trinkets; not one furniture was the same, even the material differed. His couch was covered with patches of different material, his guitars proudly displayed on the walls like art in a gallery, books were stacked on metal bookshelves and by the window stood a huge monstera plant that he found one day near trash, took home and now the bloody thing was taller than him. He placed the mug on a literal tree trunk that he converted to a coffee table and was about to spend the rest of his weekend playing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breath of the Wild</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he heard his phone chime from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, read the text from his sister</span>
  <em>
    <span>. I would love to talk with Geralt about the series of articles he wrote on endangered species some years ago. Could you arrange a meeting?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He texted before he could fully think.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What will I get in return?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His sister response was immediate:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pierogies, made with babcia’s recipe. With blueberries. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” said Jaskier to his phone. “She’s good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lemme think about it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He replied and was about to put the phone down when it chimed again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And cheesecake. The good one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh god, thought Jaskier, she was offering him heaven on Earth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I want butt load of raisins in it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God you’re a weird one. Done. Do we have a deal?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bit down his lower lip, thinking about his grandma’s perogies and the traditional polish cheesecake only his sister could bake just like </span>
  <em>
    <span>babcia</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he sighed, loud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see what I can do. Will have to turn on my charm up to 20000% </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His sister, predictably, replied with a thumbs up emoji. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How do you turn on your charm on somebody you tried to charm before but it didn’t work? Jaskier vividly remembered his first weeks at work; he had done some reviews for smaller newspapers, certainly not the caliber of Daily Novigrad, but the closeness of the people reminded him of his previous workplace. They didn’t have Yennefer there, though, and that was mostly why he even considered this job. Because he wanted to learn, even though he tried to trick everybody — including himself sometimes — that he knew every trick that a music writer could have. Yennefer didn’t buy that bullshit even for a minute so Jaskier did what he had always done in a situation like these: he pretended that everything was alright while he frantically tried to boost his ego other ways to, finally, agree with the person who wronged him — at that time it was Yennefer because nobody would tell him that his writing needed ‘some work’ — and for the next few months he worked his ass off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He met Geralt in the kitchen a month or so in, while he was making himself a cup of coffee. Or reheating his morning cup of coffee because he just couldn’t care what kind of coffee he was drinking, when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He wasn’t scared even if it was way past eleven, he knew that he wasn’t alone in the office. But when he turned it wasn’t Derek, the security guy, or one of the cleaning ladies. The guys had white, shortish hair, wore all black and frankly he looked as if he stepped onto the wrong floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then yellow eyes met his and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooohed, </span>
  </em>
  <span>apparently out loud because the white-haried man furrowed his brows and just stared at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit sorry, it’s been a very long day. I’m Jaskier, the new guy for the music column? It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand, immediately saw that he still had a spoon it it so he dropped it into the sink and extended it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man looked at the hand at him but after a few long seconds he shook it in a firm grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiled broadly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh I know.” To which Geralt furrowed his brows again and damn, that? Adorable. “Yennefer said only nice things about you.” Which wasn’t a lie per se but seeing Geralt’s eyeroll and a fleeting grimace tolld Jaskier that Geralt knew he wasn’t telling the truth. Or at least not all of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure she did.” Their hands fell back to their sides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I only hear the good things she says, the rest kind of flies above my head to be honest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your hair must stick out everyday when she’s at the office, then.” Said Geralt to which Jaskier laughed. It might have been a tad too high for the first second but he has been writing things and stuff for the last, um, ten hours? He sometimes forgot how his own voice sounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell this to her but the stash of hair gel that Triss keeps under her desk? Well, it’s not for her gorgeous hair but for mine. To not stick out so much. Anyway,” he added quickly hearing that the joke sounded way better in his head than out loud. “I gotta go, things to write and edit I guess?” He finished lamely and just in time, thank the gods, the microwave beeped and he could take out his way too hot mug and practically run to his seat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later he always wondered if that first conversation was really that bad as each time Geralt saw him he… nodded with acknowledgment and that was that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He owed him a favour, he realised, and Geralt seemed like a pretty honorable guy, he guessed? Maybe he didn’t have to turn on his charm above the normal thirty percent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Breath of the Wild</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgotten he took his phone and typed quickly:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hello I am here to reap what you sow etc etc. i have a favour to ask. Or my sister has idk how that works. Either way she’s writing a thesis on... Something complicated that I always forget the name of but she asked if she could interview you about the articles you wrote on the endangered species some time ago??</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was about to hit </span>
  <em>
    <span>send</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he hasitated for a moment, said out loud “Oh fuck it.” And added:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll owe you a beer. Or a lemonade whatever is your preference i don’t judge. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then hit send. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He then put his phone screen down on his table, decided that Zelda might not be what he wanted after all and spent the next four hours making his island in Animal Crossing into a perfect image of what he found as an ideal home: full of sparkly stuff chaotically put on every flat surface.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when his bladder finally decided that the coffee that he had and the teas? Yeah, I’m full man, gotta go and flush everything out of the system. Only then he turned off the Switch and as he came back he took the phone, read all the messages and decided that he will reply to them later, but focused truly on only one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beer will be fine. Give me the time and place and I’ll meet you and your sister. Would she like my research for these pieces? I should still have them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier forwarded the question to his sister who answered with one, big, </span>
  <em>
    <span>YES.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Establishing a time where Mary didn’t have school, didn’t have to take care of her two wonderful — but also a little diabolic — children proved to be a challenge that Jaskier had to resolve with an actual calendar opened on his tablet, sending possible times rapidly to his sister.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After finally, finally agreeing on a Monday at eleven, the next day — before her classes, cafes would be fairly empty and she still got some time to ask Geralt the questions that she wanted — and getting the thumbs up from Geralt, Jaskier ordered some food, absolutely forgot about all the messages he has read but didn’t reply to and came back to paying his debt to a raccoon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In hindsight he should have articulated things more. Communicated more, used words! For a journalist who lived and breathed describing music and how good, or bad, it made him feel, apparently he wasn’t as well versed in words as he would like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt was politely sipping his coffee while his sister just laid everything in front of him, all of the questions she wanted him to answer, all the work she used from his articles while Jaskier was staring openly and wondering why the hell was he even here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a good question, one that he could have asked himself before sitting his ass down next to his sister, taking off his sunglasses and asking:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt wasn’t there yet which was a blessing because Mary was quite shocked. Like, shocked shocked that he would be here, she probably was about to ask the questions he was asking himself right now but that was the moment that Geralt chose to sit in front of her and Jaskier saw that it took everything for her not to lose her shit completely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she started talking which was good because then Jaskier could pretend that he was listening when in fact he was shamelessly looking at Geralt which in reality?  A very well spent morning, thank you very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he had to work. But he chose not to. Not when Geralt was listening intently and was answering questions in his low and gruff voice, not when, from time to time, he would take a strand of his hair and put it behind his ear, and was he in too deep? Hell yes he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh god, he was crushing after his coworker. Way to go Jaskir, really, way to go in flames of glory!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things like that didn’t end well. They started hot — blow jobs in the kitchen, that sort of ‘hot’ — but they did not have happy endings, not like in the romances he read. There was heartbreak, maybe a few jobs lost, resentment was a given sprinkled with a little bit of disappointment. It often ended in divorce if one of the parties was married, but almost never in a happy and healthy relationship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He might have read a little bit too much of the ‘boss - intern’ books recently but hey, he wasn’t complaining!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mary talked, passionately, and Geralt listened, answered questions and seemed to genuinely enjoy himself. He didn’t have his hands crossed over his chest, he nodded along with the woman opposite him, his answers were short but to the point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However he did not have a leather jacket on which was a shame, shame Jaskier said!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After he finished his coffee and Mary wanted to order another one — she had so many other questions that sprung up during this conversation alone that she was already making plans for the next meeting — when Jaskier’s phone, lying face down next to him, vibrated into the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He curiously picked it up to see who was calling but there was nobody on the screen, just his twitter alerts popping one one by one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He furrowed his brows, not understanding what was going on: his phone wouldn’t shut up, his screen was constantly alight and when his email started popping up? Ok that shit did not seem funny. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yennefer’s name came alive on his screen but before he could pick up a new pile of messages started to spring up; they went so fast he didn’t even know if it was twitter or instagram or any other app on his phone and he couldn’t slide right to ask Yennefer if she knew what was going on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” said a gruff voice and he immediately turned towards Geralt who was watching him, brows furrowed, worry written on his face. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t have time to speak because Geralt’s phone perked up — he didn’t even mute it, that’s how sure he was nobody would call him — and he picked it up with a short “Hello.” And listened intently. After no more than a minute he thanked the caller, put his phone down and turned to Jaskier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have to come back to the office. You went viral and it’s not pretty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh shit that would explain the notifications. He meant to turn them off but he just liked to be notified how people responded to his shittweets he send and three in the morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded, grabbed his things, quickly said goodbye to his sister and for Jaskier it seemed like a blink but it was more than that when the both of them, arm in arm, were walking briskly to the office. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” started Yennefer when the three of them gathered in her office. She was looking at them from her tablet, glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “This is definitely the most widely trashed article you have written. Congrat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? I mean, they deserved it, the album is shit just because the people haven’t listened to it yet doesn’t mean they can trash my review!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right now they’re not trashing the review, they’re mostly trashing you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oooh. How bad?” asked Jaskier, leaning back a little bit in his chair. He could feel the presence of Geralt behind him, standing next to the doors, all blinds shut, which was oddly comforting in a situation like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They started digging your old music videos up and the articles about your accident are popping up like weeds. They mostly write that ‘you're just jealous’ of the band's talent, that you have sold out to the ‘big man’, and so on and so forth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s rude. First of all I’m not jealous of the band's talent, just furious that they would release such a piece of shit, second of all you’re not ‘the man’, you’re just ‘the’ and I would sell myself out to you any time any place.” He added, which got him a snort from behind him and a lazy smile from the woman sitting before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I guess. Still, we need to decide what to do right here and now because otherwise I’m afraid that you’ll go off the rails and make everything worse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But could it go worse?” Asked Jaskier just as polite but urgent knock made the three of them look back. The doors opened and Triss was standing in them, pale but head held high.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So. We have to leave the building. Apparently the whole floor got a very real and possible bomb threat. The, ah, ‘team’ is on the way to look through and check”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence fell and stretched in the office like bubble gum until Jaskier popped if off with his hands thrown in the air and screamed:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“IT WAS ONLY A BAD ALBUM REVIEW FOR GODS’ SAKE!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sirens blaring, lights flashing, their whole floor was standing before the building, chatting, hugging themselves and what was most important for Jaskier: saying that they didn’t blame him. Nevertheless he apologized to everyone admitting that yes, indeed it was his fault, and yes he was so very sorry and didn’t know that his one, tiny review would make such an uproar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I hear you saying sorry one more time Jaskier I swear to god I will break something.” Said Triss standing next to him, leaning on the building facade, cigarette lit between her long and manicured fingers even though a mere feet away was a sign with “Don’t smoke” written on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sighed and turned towards Yennefer who just got off the phone with the commissary of police. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to go home. Or somewhere that isn’t home. Information with the address of our main office is plastered on our website but I doubt that people will be stopped by something known as ‘privacy’ so I recommend you get some hotel room for a week or two. Do not stay with your family, they could doxx them and those people” she said with a sneer, her red lips curving in an unpleasant grim. “Are bunch of fucking assholes. So. Get a room, stay low for a week or two and when I say,” she pointed at Jaskier. “‘Stay low’ I mean it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I’m going to do anything about it or change anything. If we take down the review it would look like caving in, if we respond to demands we could stoke the fire.” Jaskier combed his hair with his fingers looking at the darkening sky. It would rain soon. He liked quiet evenings in his apartment when droplets of water hit his windows; it was calming, serene. Now it just sounded like more trouble. “Yeah, ok, I’ll find a place to stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somebody cleared their throat and the three of them, Triss puffing out the cigarette smoke, turned towards Gerald that stood with hands in the pockets of his leather jacket that he apparently had somewhere at the office which he grabbed on the way down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He can stay at my place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked at him, mouth hanging open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I can’t!” He said, throwing his hands in the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” said Yennefer at the same time. “I think it’s a perfect idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Jaskier glared at the woman who in return raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. He has a daughter! And those fuckers just send a bomb threat to our building. If this is about yours and Triss’...” he was about to say “bet” when Yennefer raised her finger to shut him up, which worked like a charm every time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier, stop. Geralt is perfectly capable of thinking through this situation. His apartment is in a closely secured building, he has a spare room, his personal information is tightly kept under wraps, and he and Ciri can take care of themselves.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can they diffuse a bomb?” He asked nobody in particular, treating this like a rhetorical question but the way Yennefer </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Geralt and the shrug that he gave… “Holy shit you totally can, can you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As Yennefer said, my flat has twenty-four seven security, a private garage, I have a spare room and I think Ciri would like your company. She had many questions after Parperuna’s concert and I am not qualified enough to answer them.” He gave a noncommittal shrug. “And I would also like your company.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Were they insane? Jaskier asked himself as he looked around the people standing next to him. Yennefer nodded in agreement, Triss added “Well, it seems like a better plan that the one you probably have.” And Geralt just stood there, shoulder straight, waiting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Won’t I intrude too much?” Jaskier asked lamely and he could swear he saw Geralt letting go of a big breath he was holding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I have a few things to write, errands to do. Ciri spends time afterschool with her friends or listening to Parperuna and we don’t really see much of each other to be honest. Teenagers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But it’s two weeks! I can’t fathom you taking me in from the goodness of you heart!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt raises his eyebrow in response but added after a beat: “You are in need, I have a spare room in a safe place, seems logical to me. If you would like you can treat it as a favour and just repay me after all of this is done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something twisted in Jaskier’s stomach and a part of him wanted to immediately say “yes” because it was Geralt and he would be living with him — and his daughter, but as the man said they barely saw each other — but another part of him wanted to stop his leg and just say “No, you can’t do that I can take care of myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the truth was he didn’t know if he could afford, well, an affordable hotel, especially this time of year. He had mortgage, bills to pay and even with his savings… How much time should have passed until he thought of his flat as “safe”? Two weeks? Three? The article was barely realised and the whole newspaper got a bomb threat, it could go worse or better. And Jaskier always wanted to be prepared for worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, heavily, and before opening his mouth he saw that Geralt knew that he was going to agree since the moment he sprung up with the proposition. He would dislike the bastard for at least a hot minute if he didn’t wear that jacket now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I agree. Thank you.” He said, looking straight into Geralt’s yellow eyes. “I really appreciated your help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With that settled, don’t you think you won’t have work to do. I’ll send you some things, and do not, under any circumstances for the love of everything that’s holy, read the comments under your article or the Twitter threads.” Yennefer stared straight into Jaskier, her violet eyes pining his soul to his body. “Trust me. You do not want to go there. Lay low, work on your things, and when it’s all over you will come back and forget that everything here even happened.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked around the scene; the police and what looked like SWAT cars parked in front of the building, the people gathered at the far end of it, cordoned out by the police. He saw a couple of TV crews setting up, their camera lights bright and migraine inducing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seriously doubted that he would forget a situation like this, but he nodded, for Yennefer’s and his sake. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just to be sure, I'm putting a trigger warning regarding a car crash here, before this chapter. Nothing detailed per se, but just so you know.</p><p>Also: Jaskier is dumb, what is new?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If asked, Jaskier would say that there are a couple of things that he would have a very hard time to part with. These things were dear to his heart and included, in no particular order: his guitar, his Grammy award he won in what seemed now another lifetime, a couple of his favourite books, half of his wardrobe, a few pairs of sneakers and that jacket with purple sequins all over it that he bought in Japan when he was on tour, like, ten years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His suitcase — one of the smallest ones he had, he didn’t want to scarry Geralt and Ciri with the amount of stuff he bought in, not when they still liked him — was standing by the door and he, dressed in his most casual clothes that consisted of grey pants, a black raincoat that finished just above his knee and white sneaker, was looking at his flat. It was the first thing he bought with his music money, not the music he sang by himself, but the one he composed and wrote for the others. At the beginning it was bittersweet to hear other people singing the words he put on the paper, that he poured from his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was bittersweet but he had to eat, had to earn money somehow when his own savings were getting thinner by the week. The biggest chunk went to settle his hospital bills — those were a bitch — but at least as his mother said he was alive. Not quite whole, he thought looking at his hands; you never could tell that once upon a time each and every finger was broken in at least one place. He had faint scars to prove it but you had to know where to look for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grueling hours of rehabilitation, even more spent lying in his bed just staring at the ceiling. Who he was without his music?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clentech his fingers into a fist and slowly let go. He had found the strength then and he would do it now. Everything would be alright. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gripped his suitcase and lifted it from the ground. Geralt told him to be at his address as soon as possible but he just… couldn’t get into the car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, as everyday, he took the train, left at the stop google maps told him to and when he finally found the place he just gaped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was an old building, red brick hidden under vines. At least it was made to look old, the place was too pristine, too well taken care of as if somebody just finished the last touches on the place and gave the keys to the rightful owners.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Also, how much was Geralt making to afford such a place because wow, he had to talk with Yennefer about a raise when the situation blew over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He started at it for a moment and his eyes went round for a fraction of a second when he saw that the building had a name, because under the number were black letters on a white, rectangular background, that spelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kaer Morhen</span>
  </em>
  <span> and seriously how much did Geralt earn?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier took few tentative steps towards the stone stairs, but he thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell I haven’t felt this uninvited since the time I snatched that Grammy from under the nose of the blonde American sweetheart a decade or more ago</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he took a deep breath, held his suitcase tighter in his hands and stepped through the doors that opened automatically before him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t even shocked by the door or by the fact that the building had a lobby, a rustic one at that. There were few leather chairs by the walls one could sit and wait, the air was crips and smelled like cleaned surfaces and the man in his late fifties that was sitting behind the huge mahogany desk smiled a little too sharply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must be Jaskier, correct?” The man behind the desk eyed him from head to toe and if it weren’t for the years that Jaskier has spent under people’s eyes when he was still singing and playing he would have squirmed on the spot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t. He starred the man straight in the eye which earned him a barely visible nod. The man picked up the phone, dialed a number but didn’t speak to the receiver. “Geralt’s coming down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nodded unsure of what to do, really. The lobby was rustic, but weirdly… homely. Most often the lobbies were made with surgical precision, where you couldn’t put anything that wouldn’t look out of place. They were meant to be only passed, to be waited in; just a sign that something better was behind the closed doors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jaskier wondered why other lobbies have ever put him in such a somber mood, he heard rather than saw a ding of the elevator door opening. He would have gaped at the wall that was next to the mahogany desk which suddenly seemed to be peeled back to reveal the modernity and cleanness that was the elevator, if it wasn’t for the eyes of the man behind the desk who was watching him closely and also the yellow eyes of Geralt who looked at him from the inside of the lift. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was just about to move and get to the tall man when his body and mind just stopped. Was he really doing it? Really endangering Geralt and his teenage daughter for gods sake?  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man, as if sensing his internal battle shifted a little bit, as if he was also unsure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in,” was what he said in a low voice which, shit, sang in Jaskier’s bones, and before he knew it he was walking toward the elevator, his sneaker making slightly squeaky sounds when they touched the flood. “Thanks Vesemir.” Added Geralt to seemingly nobody in particular as Jaskier got to the bright and shiny elevator but he heard a laugh behind him and Vesemir said “See ya later kid,” as the doors closed behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence was heavy as Jaskier leaned on the mirrored wall of the elevator looking at Geralt from under his lashes, thinking. The man stood in the same spot as when the lift stopped on the lobby floor and was looking straight ahead as if he didn’t really want to look at Jaskier. He was about to chicken, to say “Hey, you know maybe that’s not the best idea?” if the elevator didn’t stop on the fifth floor, if the door’s haven’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>dinged</span>
  </em>
  <span> and silently opened to a narrow corridor with dark walls, plush navy-blue carpet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt waved a hand which Jaskier took as an invitation and he stepped out first. He thought for a moment about putting his suitcase down but when he saw how his sneakers just seemed to slightly disappear into the carpet he opted out; he didn’t want the wheels to damage expensive things that he probably didn’t and couldn’t buy back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” said Geralt as he bypassed him and turned toward one of the two identical doors on the floor. He swiped a card — </span>
  <em>
    <span>a card!! —</span>
  </em>
  <span> and pushed in some number on a touchpad — </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch! Pad! — </span>
  </em>
  <span>before he pushed the big handle and opened the doors to let Jaskier in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for the mess,” said Geralt as Jaskier stepped into one of the most amazing flats he had ever seen. “Didn’t have much time to clean and stuff.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” were the first words Jaskier said as he saw the marble kitchen island, the six-burner stove, the massive dinner table littered with pieces of papers, notes and notepads that stood by enormous windows that led to a balcony. There was a flat TV opposite of the table on a brick wall and underneath him was a literal fireplace. But what Jaskier was staring at wasn’t the beautiful, ornate carpet, or the fact that everything seemed so nice and so fucking homely his teeth ached, but the books. The fucking boock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bookcases were taller than him and filled in the whole wall on the other side of the table. They were littered with books and Jaskier couldn’t keep his eyes away, there were so many of them! A heaven! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit are you sure you’re just a journalist? Like, man, this seems…” He waved at the bookcases, words kinda stuck his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excessive?” finished Geralt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, gods no! Like a fuck ton of money that’s what I wanted to say!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed at that and a pleasant shiver went through Jaskier’s body. He liked that laugh, short and low, but not gruff and dismissive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a writer, I like words.” He says as if that explains the hundred books on the shelves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, me too but have you ever heard of a Kindle?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m more of a paper type of guy. Here,” Geralt went to the right and opened a door. “That’s the spare room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ‘spare room’ as Geralt called it was a full fledged room with a king sized bed, a wardrobe, and Jaskier even had space to do yoga. He had to use either the bathroom near the master bedroom inside which he did not peak in — sadly — or a bathroom with Ciri which… well, looked questionable. He didn’t want to be scarred by all that hair he imagined lived on the grey tiles. The room looked fairy clean but Jaskier had a sister who through all of his childhood and teenage years had long hair and dyed them at least once every four months and he had to share a bathroom with her. He vowed never again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The apartment was clean, looked well lived in and… homely. The doors to Geralt’s office were slightly ajar but as the man only gestured vaguely with his hands and a nod towards them and didn’t open them wider, acknowledging that it was there. The door to Ciri’s room was closed and Geralt didn’t try to open them, which Jaskier noticed and as a boy who grew up with a mother who had somewhat shaky views on teenage privacy, he respected that even more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the flat tour over the two of them stood in the spacious living room, the breeze making the translucent curtains float lazily near the big table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have a very nice flat,” said Jaskier, hands in the pockets of his trousers, a little bit unsure of what he should say at a moment like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Was all Geralt said, looking around, a soft smile playing on his lips. It was cute, domestic, and for a second Jaskier just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was here, he was safe and.... crap he had to call his parents and sister to tell him not to take any calls from strangers. He also had to turn off the notifications on all of the apps, because for now he only uninstalled them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and when he lifted his head Geralt was looking right at him with an expression Jaskier couldn’t quiet place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a drink?” asked Geralt, already turning on his heels towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not even late afternoon!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ciri could be home any minute!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a brief second he hid his face in his hands. “Cannot believe I’m trying to be an adult here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the thing: you don’t have to.” Startled, Jaskier looked up to see the other man opening and closing the freezer and placing on the kitchen island a vodka bottle that was white with frost. “You had a shitty day, you will have not so good upcoming weeks. I’m not proposing getting shit faced drunk, that you can do on your own, in your own flat, when this is all over” Jaskier laughed and he stepped to the island, sitting his ass on the wooden stool opposite of where Geralt was. The white-haired man placed a vodka shot in front of him, unscrew the cap on the bottle and poured generously, to the brim. “One shot won’t kill you, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Depending on what you put in here…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed at that, head slightly tilted back, his eyes dark. Jaskier enjoyed this laugh very much and also the small dimples? Cute as a button, as his grandmother would say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both grabbed at their glasses and at the same time picked them, swallowing the clear liquor which after a second made Jaskier grimace, the liquid fire going down to his stomach. He coughed, once, twice, hiding his mouth behind his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, this was not the worst vodka I ever had…” Jaskier coughed again, turning his head away so that Geralt wouldn’t see how his eyes slightly watered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too rough for your tastes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, the aftercare is most important no matter the roughness, but that stuff? It’s vile. You see, you agree!” Jaskier added when Geralt started coughing uncontrollably, leaning left, his cheeks pink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier…” Geralt said after he calmed down and started breathing normally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘What?” Jaskier blinked, brows furrowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence that started stretching between them was interrupted by Geralt’s heavy sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea, do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About what? No, don’t tell me it’s about the fucking review!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt huffed a laugh through his nose and leaned on his elbows which he put on the marble island. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really have no clue?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, not an oracle!” Jaskier threw his hands up, exasperated. What the hell was Geralt talking about and really, could he lean back a little bit and stop staring at him so…. So… directly? It was distracting as hell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt opened his mouth and was about to say something when a beeping sound went through the whole flat and Jaskier tensed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the door, don’t worry,” said Geralt as at the same time Ciri screamed “I’m hooome!” and closed the doors behind her with too much force. When her head popped into Jaskier’s view, her hair put in a tight ponytail she smiled at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you're already here! Cool!” She threw her backpack on the floor which Geralt only commented with a raised eyebrow. “Do you know,” she said, sitting next to Jaskier on one of the high chairs. “That you have become a meme?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt groaned. Jaskier gaped at the teenager who swiftly unblocked her phone, and started going through her photogallery. The first photo she showed him was of the iconic moment from Gordon Ramsey’s show when he put two pieces of bread on both sides of a woman’s face asking “What are you?” but instead of the answer from the TV show there was a quote from his review: “A still smoking garbage can that nobody wants to extinguish because the smoke from it is still better for the nature and for those that inhaling it than the album.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ok, if Jaskier was being honest he might have been a little too petty, but hey! Yennefer liked it, although she put a heel on his more imaginative comparisons, and there were a lot more than just this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t as if Jaskier didn’t understand that the band might have some financial problems and they had to make cash and quickly. He was in this business himself, some years ago, one the same boat as them and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>understood</span>
  </em>
  <span> what it was like to live from paycheck to paycheck hoping that somebody would at least buy one of goddamn songs or book him as a support. Selling to the man sometimes was the only option for survival for many of the artists but it wasn’t a bad thing. That money could fuel something larger than life, a project so absurd that only the artist would believe in it in the beginning. That money could launch careers but you had to be careful and find that perfect space between going commercial but still doing your own thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the American Band? Well, not only they produced one of their worst thing up to the date, it was painfully made only to be sold, consumed and thrown away. He wanted better, and the American’s fans deserved better! And yes, he heard rumors about the band, money skyrocketing to levels they haven’t seen as well as their egos and addiction, but he tried not to think about it while listening to the album — still at least two days to go before it came out, gods he wished time would just jump to that day and he would surely be done with this mockery? — he tried to just look at the superficiality, at the dull lyrics and riffs that sounded like B side from their previous albums. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri, none the wiser, was going through the pictures she downloaded, stopping on them just so he could read them, and Jaskier laughed, under his breath, but laughed in what felt like forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s enough.” Suddenly said Geralt and his strong hand wrapped around the girl’s phone taking it off her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey I didn’t show him my favorite one, with the seagulls from ‘Where is Nemo’ and…” she stopped, seeing her father’s stern face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough.” Said Geralt again, but gentler, and Jaskier’s heart did something funny. “Jaskier here is banned from the internet and can’t read the comments. It would be best if you didn’t, also.” He added and Ciri rolled her eyes in answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Duuh, I am not dumb, you never read the comments if you don’t want to get your blood boiling, especially under reviews. Been there, done that, never again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Asked Jaskier, suddenly interested and leaned a little bit back looking at the girl in front of him. Suddenly, her brows furrowed in a familiar gesture to Jaskier and he almost laughed out loud. One could clearly see who was her father just by looking at her scrunched face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I once clicked on comments under one of the Parperuna’s album review and it was just… a mess. Never again, nope! Hey, Jaskier,” the girl suddenly turned his way, eye sparking with sudden interest. “Is it true you won a Grammy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ummm…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And is it true that you collaborated with the queen herself, Beyonce?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it true that you were in an accident and then you lived with monks for like three years?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did not live with monks,” said Jaskier resolutely, feeling the prickly feeling he always got when people mentioned that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “And if I were they would be graced with my presence and never utter a word about it to anyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri looked confused, her nose scrunched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t live with monks. Yes, I had an accident, and yes I won a Grammy. Just one!” He added quickly seeing Ciri’s growing enthusiasm. “And I kind of worked with Beyonce but I have never met her, just the people from her label, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That,” said Ciri, after a heartbeat of silence. “Is so freaking cool.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If only you could muster that much enthusiasm for your homework.” said Geralt under his breath but loud enough for his daughter to roll her eyes at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not my fault that math just doesn’t agree with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t agree with you, you say?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, dad, stop,” the girl jumped to the floor from the stool. “Yes, I’m going to my room now, to do my homework, and yes” she added, before Geralt could even utter a word. “I will come for dinner in an hour.” She grabbed her backpack, didn’t even bother to put it on her shoulder, just hauled it behind her like a sack of potatoes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt cleared his throat and leaned in to take Jaskier’s glass and a glint of silver caught his eye. Of course he knew that under all that leather and — </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot damn </span>
  </em>
  <span>— material the white-haired was wearing a necklace of sorts but Jaskier could not figure out what it was. The chain wasn’t thin enough for it to be something delicate and it wasn’t thick enough to have any larger piece and Jaskier didn’t really know what he should be expecting. A tooth of some endangered species? No, Geralt wouldn’t be that obtuse. But as he leaned in there was a trace of dark hair and really, Jaskier had to swallow because his mouth had gone immediately dry, but the sparkle was what caught his eye. If he only was sitting closer he maybe could peer in and see…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As fast as Geralt leaned in he gently took the glass in his long fingers and took it to the sink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s mouth and throat were still dry and he had to clear his throat before asking “So, dinner. Who’s cooking?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you think I’m letting her,” Geralt cooked his head to where Ciri’s bedroom was. “Touch hot pans and pan in the near future you’re wrong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But when she will learn to cook when you won’t let her even try. Look,” Jaskier added quickly seeing Geralt’s questioning and slightly disbelieving looks. “My grandmother loved to cook, no, stuff people with food. There wasn’t a time when my family wouldn’t leave her place without a least some of her pierogies or cheese cake. She taught my sister how to do them, and thank gods for that: after grandad passed away, granny couldn’t really bring herself to cook anymore, so Mary did it for her. If Rose wasn’t stubborn enough to teach Mary we suspect that our grieving process would be harder and longer. And seriously, do you really want Ciri to google how long does she have to cook eggs when she’s twenty eight? No. So,” he took a longer breath before continuing. “Start now, let her have a few burns, and you might have a well adjusted adult in the future.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Was all that Geralt said after a long, long pause. He then nodded and Jaskier could see the wheels in his brain working fast and hard because he had the same look when he sat in front of his computer, fingers hovering over the keyboard, thinking about what he was going to write. He then nodded, drumming his fingers on the counter and when he looked at Jaskier the younger man felt the tension going out of his body with a wif.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. Will think about that. In the meantime you get settled in, dinner is in about an hour,” and with that Geralt turned his back to Jaskier and started opening cupboards and getting things out of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well. That went better than Jaskier expected. Yay?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded to Geralt’s back as if the other man could even see him and slipped to his room, closing lightly the doors behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until now he didn’t really know how much he was worried about Ciri’s reaction. She met him once and only knew that he was his father's colleague from work who could get free tickets. And now this strange, weird guy was going to be living with them for the next two weeks. At least Jaskier expected that Geralt told her already about the next two weeks she was going to spend with him as her neighbour because man, otherwise the dinner would get awkward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turned out: it wasn’t. Not at all. Ciri came out of her room when Geralt called her and naturally took her place by his right side, facing the window. Jaskier, not really knowing what to do was saved by Geralt putting down the plate with steaming food — a pleasant mixture of various vegetables with rice and quite a killer sauce — opposite of the girl and Jaskir really had no choice but to sit and wait who first would open their mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his surprise it was Geralt. He asked about Ciri’s day and to even more surprise she didn’t just answer with “Fine.” She actually started to bitching — and even though Jaskier wouldn’t say it at loud because there were teens at the table, it was nothing but bitching - about her dumb teachers and even dumber kids and really, can’t she just be homeschooled? To which Geralt just looked at her and she answered with an even bitchier “Fine!” which Geralt did not comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ciri was not done yet. Some gossip was exchanged between the parent and child. As it turned out Geralt was well versed in teen slang and did not ask for clarification on some words, didn’t ask for explanation who was who and Jaskier… sat there, shocked but also privileged to get an inside into such an intimate moment between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was nice. More than nice. He felt a sort of unfamiliar tug that he hasn't felt in a long, long time. It was a disappointment, in himself mostly, that he didn’t have a better relationship with his family. But also at slight irritation at them because they also didn’t bothered to change anything. It was as if the moment he left the family house it meant that was alone now. Any string they have attached to each other were gone, save it by a sporadic call from his sister or an invitation to dinner from his grandmother. They didn’t chat regularly, the calls were less than frequent but only now it dawned on him how ‘not frequent’ they really were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pang of regret went through him, which he washed with few sips of his orange juice. It wasn’t as if he shouldn’t be blamed; the situation between him and his family was also of his own doing. When he was eighteen, nineteen he literally thought that he was a young god, that the world was under his heel. He picked up a guitar and songwriting soon after his nineteen birthday and after discovering that he was really good at that, he started to perform on the street — that’s how confident of a motherfucker he has been — put a song on the internet. By the time he was twenty six there were lines to see him live, his second album was a smashing hit and a Grammy award was already sitting on his parent’s bookshelf because he was too busy working, too busy touring to have his own place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hit twenty-seven, feeling a little less godly and a little bit more weary and tired to his bones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hit twenty-seven and was coming back from one of his concerts, him and his mengare and some of his musicians.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hit twenty-seven and a car on the lane next to them lost control, crashed into them and they fell into the ditch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hit twenty-seven and it turned out that when nearly every of your fingers is broken there is a possibility that you will never play as well as you did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things were the same but not, not really. His stitch at music, at being a musician was done. He couldn’t plate as well as he wanted to, some single cords but that was the extent of it. He could write and he did, as a ghost writer mostly, pop songs for artists that sometimes just didn’t bother or didn’t have any good ideas. He was really good at that even before the crash and that experience and the cash from the gigs kept him afloat after. It still did. Sometimes he would dig a song or two, or make a new one for the artists he knew and who asked him personally, sell it and the cash helped him pay for his flat, furniture and everything he got.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And his family was there, of course they were, especially after. They took care of him, helped him, his sister even put an idea in his head that if he is so snarky in real life about music he could do it on paper without bothering her so much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Growing accustomed to life alone was not something Jaskier wanted: he simply did. Touring was fun; new cities, new people, new venues. It made him tick in a very specific way, one he never could find when he wasn’t singing in front of thousands of people. The world seemed different when he was on the road; exciting but also tiring. He could joke about it now; the sleepless nights, new hotels every day, fans that were all too excited to meet him. Now it seemed like a distant memory, something that he could remember fondly. The beer in his memories seemed colder, the road somewhat straighter, the fans that knocked at his doors prettier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was alone then so why change it now?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Staying mostly silent during the dinner wasn’t a chore; he really enjoyed the easy banter between Ciri and Geralt. When the girl was done she took the plates, thanked them both as if Jaskier had anything to do with the food that she just ate and after a moment from behind the doors that closed after her, everybody in the apartament could hear the beginnings of Papreruna’s newest album.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt sighed and Jaskier laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your face is telling me that you didn’t bother with buying the noise canceling headphones?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It didn’t seem like a priority,” answered Geralt, finishing slowly his glass of orange juice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She ain’t gonna stop soon, so you better hurry!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have any?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Looked at him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Are you serious? Of course I have mine. Did you really think I would crash on your couch for two weeks without being fully prepared? Oh you mere mortal, you sweet summer child,” Geralt laughed at that, more to his glass than to Jaskier but he still called it a win.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood up, gathered his plate and following Ciri left it in the dishwasher. “You can ask, you know.” He found himself saying to the counter and the spices placed on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” said Geralt behind him. “You can ask, too.” He added and at that Jaskier turned around to see the other man standing up, gathering his plates and following Ciri’s lead. Jaskier had to step back to give Geralt a room — or his big shoulders a room — but apparently, they were done, as the white-haired man added: “I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which left Jaskier standing in the kitchen, back towards the counter, confused and tempted to ask what the hell was going on.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier, still living for the time being with Geralt, might be finally getting some clues.</p><p>Maybe.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day before the album was finally coming out Yen phoned him after five in the afternoon and in a serious voice reminded him to “not engage” with people on the internet. Better yet don’t check any of his social feeds because it still will be a mess for a couple of days. Stay with Geralt, she said, don’t take any calls from unknown numbers and especially don’t check twitter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yen,” he said, standing in Geralt’s living room and looking at the city in front of him through the balcony window. “How many times do I have to tell you that in fact I am not stupid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned with furrowed brows and mouth in a tight line when he heard a short laugh behind him and from his cell. Geralt was sitting by the dinner table and looked up from his computer with a face that said “what?” and a guilty smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes Jaskier I know that you’re, in fact, not stupid,” said Yennefer on the other side of the conversation they have been having for the last six minutes or so. She said that they seemed to control the situation and for a while the whole buzz around his review died down, but with the album coming out she — and the newspaper’s lawyers — thought that any comments from his side would only stoke the flames, and they did not want that. “Only slightly oblivious but that’s a topic for another conversation,” she said and continued. “The matter at hand is this: I know you too well, Jaskier. And I know you like to run your mouth, I have edited all your articles and reviews, remember? You are a little bit too snappy, my dearie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me? Too snappy? How dare you,” he answered but without heat, and rolled his eyes after he heard another snort behind him. He turned to see Geralt hiding his lips behind his hand. “Should I go?” He asked, taking the phone away from his face. “Am I distracting you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt made a humming noise under his breath but shook his head. Man, what a weird guy Geralt was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you listening to me,” he caught Yen saying. “Or is there another person fighting for your attention?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m here,” he said, probably way too fast, turning away from the white-haired man feeling his cheeks getting hotert by the second. It’s not like Geralt had to fight anybody for his attention when he already had plenty of it, thank you very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you say so,” answered Yennefer but Jaskier could swear that he heard the smirk even in her voice. “Hopefully it will all die down within a few days. There were also other reviews, which weren’t good for the band but not as catty as yours…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Catt? Am sorry, do I need to remind you who approved the whole text?” Interjected Jaskier but the woman continued as if he hadn’t said a word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...but they definitely did not hail this album as the next big thing in rock music. Right now they haven’t commented on anything, which was probably the smartest thing to do on their part, however,” Jaskier imagined Yennefer sitting at her desk, taking her glasses off and massaging the ridge of her nose. “I feel like we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So.” Repeated Jaskier, staring at the city’s skyline that slowly got darker with the oncoming stormy clouds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yennefer sighed on the other side of the phone. “If I had known that this was going to be such a huge thing I would have asked you to change some things in your review, I swear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you asked me I would probably argue with you about that and the review would have been published in full with all the additional things you excluded, because we’re both stubborn as hell and you would want me to learn a lesson, or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or something,” Yen laughed a dry laugh. “Yes, so. Don’t look on Twitter, just stay inside, write all those things you’re supposed to write and please tell Geralt that soon he will hit the deadline territory.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, thanks, I like you too. See you soon, Yen.” He said and disconnected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” Geralt asked as Jaskier started to chew on his lower lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, yeah,” he made a noncommittal wave with his left hand as he pocketed the phone. “Yen says hi and kinda warns you that you’re slowly entering the deadline territory.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt made a humming noise again and Jaskeir turned. “What are you writing anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Continuation of the series on the endangered species and the continued destruction of the Amazon forest,” said Geralt with a straight face as Jaskier gaped. He then, actually nonchalantly, shrugged. “Nothing, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing? Geralt, I am locked in your house because of a fucking album review while you’re writing actually important stuff!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t… don’t do that.” Gerlat winced as he looked from Jaskier to his laptop and closed it silently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Compare yourself to me. We’re just writing on different topics and just because I have won some awards from my writing…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, hold on, did you just say ‘awards’ as in plural?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean that what you’re writing about is any less important than mine,” Geralt finished and after a second it seemed like he realised that Jaskier actually asked him a question. “You… didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shook his hand and shrugged. “I knew that you’re a big fish but wow… how many awards and for what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ummm…” Geralt scratched the back of his head looking slightly uncomfortable. “A few?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean ‘a few’ Geralt I need some specific numbers…” Jaskier started walking towards the white-haired man just as he was standing up and going towards the closed doors of his office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier expected many things from the closed room — he had seen Ciri’s, it wasn’t a mess it was just… chaotic, to say the least, with the posters and cleary the girl thought that the floor was the lowest shelf in the room as it was evident by the amount of clothes that were stacked on one another or just thrown together. It was a miracle they didn’t have a solid layer of dust on them, but as Geralt said Ciri was old enough to take care of her own space — and judging by the amount of books in the living room he expected to see some more in the study. When Geralt opened the doors and walked in Jaskier was not disappointed as one of the walls was a clear copy of the one behind the dinner table, with books crammed next to each other as if somebody was afraid that these few shelves will end, and soon. There were also more binders, which had a special place in the neat rows; they were labeled and numbered meticulously but what caught his eye were the awards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were… just standing there, pushed into a corner, waiting to be at least dusted off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are they sitting like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Asked Geralt, who stopped behind him, leaning on the simple, white desk littered with notebooks, papers and things that looked like receipts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like… in the corner,” Jaskier waived their way. “Forgotten.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt shrugged and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmmd</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really want them to be displayed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, why? They’re for your writing, shouldn’t you be proud of them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am,” said Geralt, matter of factly, and Jaskier gritted his teeth so as not to roll his eyes. “But that’s not why I write. I don’t,” he started to explain, seeing the other man’s slightly confused look. “Did you sing to get the awards and the recognition? No, you sang because that’s what your heart told you to do, right? Well, mine is telling me to write and to follow the story and if I get an award or not, which is mostly the case in addition to a shitty pay and shitty people I have to deal with, then I’m settled. That’s why you wrote that review, right? You could lie through your teeth to save your ass and just say that the album was fine but not the band’s best work and just move on. But you didn’t. Because you value your readers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jaskier nodded. “I would not like to be on the other end of the article and just be lied to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly my point. The awards are nice, they promote my writing and everything, but I would have lived without them. Barely,” Geralt laughed and a flutter of something warm spread from Jaskier’s stomach to other parts of his body. “But you know how it is. You gain some, you lose some.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still, it would be nice to earn a living wage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed outright at that, head tilted back. “Well, it would be also nice to fly or have a unicorn, but you can’t always have everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was time for Jaskier to smile and laugh as he took a proper look at the room, putting the awards aside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a small, minimalistic to a point where there was nothing else beside a small, white desk — probably Swedish made, Jaskier knew one or two of those, not intimately of course, although there were a few missed calls and maybe some desk sex that should have happened but didn’t — a rotating chair but without the wheels and, as in the living room, shelves upon shelves of books behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I expected more fanfare from your office,” Jaskier looked around the white, empty walls, the windows with blinds on them, the papers haphazardly placed on the desk as if someone was looking for something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmmmd</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, too looking around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don’t write here often.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess: you set the space exactly for that and then you realised that you work best in your living room? Yeah,” Jaskier laughed seeing Geralt nodding. “I bought this really expensive leather chair and I could imagine,” he waved, setting a picture looking in the distance as if seeing it in front of his eyes. “Me, sitting in it, writing day and night. It’s antique, with wooden golden lion legs and it was sitting in my living room until I realised the only thing it gave me was back pain and made really weird noises every time I moved so I had to put it in my spare room slash walk in closet slash storage, just don’t ask I have a complicated relationship with that room, and had to buy another chair. Turns out I still prefer to write on my sofa most of the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nodded as if he understood Jaskier on an intimate level and the brown-haired man had to look away for a bit and look at the books. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was then that he saw the photos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A couple of them were framed and just by a glance Jaskier could recognize people in them: younger Ciri, grinning at the photographer, missing one of her front teeth and eating an colorful ice-cream that was slowly melting and coating her small fingers in sugary water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next to it stood Yennefer, dressed all in black, with a bright smile on her face, toasting a glass full of wine to the people nearby which Jaskier also recognised; there was Triss, hair in a thick braid, sitting on the other side of the woman laughing at something Eskiel said. Lambert was sitting on the other side of Yennefer, toasting her back with a huge grin that Jaskier thought was half a grin of a drunk and half a grin of somebody who was really, really fucking happy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next photo was of the man at the reception who was standing in front of a gate of some kind of a castle; he looked at least twenty years older, all cool with sunglasses, shirtless shirt and denim jeans, leanin on the doors as if they belonged to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only unframed picture was of a woman, sitting on her plush, chair all grace and stoicism, with her dark hair braided like a crown on the top of her head, posing for the picture as if it was a photoshoot for a magazine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This one,” said Geralt from behind him and Jaskier became suddenly very aware that the man was there, he could practically smell him; musty cologne mixed with soap. “Was from the day the paper was officially opened.” He pointed at the picture with toasting Yennefer, a smile clear in his voice, tracing the frame with his fingertips gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have been with them the whole time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I helped her gather the bones, meaning, the core group of journalists and we grew up from there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier could feel the corner of his lips going up. “Must have been nice,” he said, and immediately closed his eyes in frustration because that was definitely not what he wanted to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was. It still is. We have a very good team.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Very good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he said and Jaskier felt it in a twofold way. First, it was pride because he felt included in what Geralt said. After all he was a part of the team, wasn’t he? Even though his reviews had a small ‘perk’ of a bomb threat and going viral. But the articles he wrote, well, he was damn proud of them, especially now when he was writing about subgenres that weren’t obvious and one had to google them in order to get to know them well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>very good</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a way that went through his bones and blood stream, in a way that made him lick his lower lip. Jaskier could feel the other man standing just behind him and he started to wonder; if he were to lean a little bit back would he neatly fall into the crook of Geralt’s neck? Would he be shocked if Jaskier turned his head just the right angle and gazed at him from under his lashes? Did he imagine or did the muscular arm hoover next to him for a second too long? Why was Geralt just standing there and not moving back?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier knew that sometimes he was just utterly clueless; it was pointed out to him several times by different people. He didn’t even hope that maybe, Geralt and him… Because, first of all…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, first of all…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could he say it in simple terms? It was fucking Geralt, alright? It just didn't seem plausible for a man that looked like him and was such an accomplished writer — he glanced at the awards and wanted to scream for a second — to be interested in… him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just couldn’t be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geral whispered and the other man could feel his breath almost in his ear, low and only for him and </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit what was going on?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly there was a crash of closing doors and Jaskier nearly jumped in the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dad I'm home!” Screamed Ciri too loudly which meant she had her headphones on. Jaskier scrambled and nearly bumped into the man standing behind him and stopped by the door to look back and gaped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Geralt seemed irritated as if something was being interrupted; his mouth was in a tight line, his brows furrowed and when he caught Jaskier’s eyes he deflated, slightly, sighed and went out of the office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as he was out of the door, he quickly turned around making Jaskier almost jump back — what was with the day and him just jumping like a scared rabbit — and touched Jaskier just under the collarbone with one finger and said: “We are not done.” And then went to greet his daughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left Jaskier standing before the threshold of his own office, looking with parted lips, confused as hell. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for waiting for chapter five, this time on the short side. But do not fret! Chapter six - the last one - will be plenty long. I will be updating the tags as I finish this fick, so keep your eyes on them!</p><p>It's gonna get... smutty.</p><p>Wanted to thank you guys for all the kudos and comments, you're a wonderful bunch and I hope you're staying safe, staying healthy, and taking care of yourselves.</p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His brain could not stop working. He thought that it might have gone to the overload moment, because he could not stop thinking about Geralt’s last words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are not done.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fuck did he mean? He wondered the same day, laying alone in his king sized bed, staring at the empty white ceiling. He could swore he still felt the slight pressure on his skin when Geralt touched him. It didn’t burn, not exactly, but it was as if he was still being touched, a finger pressed to his skin, and he had to admit that it was a nice feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could not stop thinking about Geralt’s voice, low and promising, the way he narrowed his eyes while he said those words, not in a mean way but as if he meant it. As if Jaskier knew exactly what was going on, as if he too was, as people said, ‘on the joke’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t and that drove him crazy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, as he stretched in his pajamas </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> an old concert t-shirt that was three sizes too big and some boxers </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> he was still thinking about yesterday. After Ciri walked in it was as if nothing really happened; the dinner went as it always did, with Geralt asking his daughter about her day, her annoying Jaskier in a ‘I am a teenager!’ way that drove him mad but also made him smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything was completely normal in the house of Kaer Morhen, except it was not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Jaskier walked out of his room </span><span>—</span> <em><span>his room</span></em><span>, he didn’t even know when he started to think about Geralt’s spare bedroom as </span><em><span>his</span></em> <span>—</span><span> and yawned, shuffling his feet towards the kitchen. Geralt was already there, his usual buttoned up shirt with rolled up sleeves and top button of, making coffee.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” said Jaskier, walking past the other man, yawning a second time, craving coffee like nothing in the world. He was extending his hand to get the mug that Geralt already prepared for him, when he stopped, furrowed his brow and turned towards the white-haired man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t even lift his head from the phone he was holding, scrolling with an enigmatic look on his face, half disbelief and half fury, that made his big body look as if he were ready to attack at any opportunity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” started Jaskier, and said the man’s name again when he didn’t react. Sighing and hoping for the best, he put his hand on the man’s shoulder who flinched and nearly smashed the phone on the counter as he tried to put it down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm?” Geralt turned towards Jaskier, looking only slightly guilty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is… everything alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course there is,” Geralt answered and Jaskier knew, knew by the way Geralt avoided his eyes, by the way he puffed out his chest a little bit, that he was, indeed, lying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier crossed his arms and just stared at Geralt for a solid half a minute, silent. The other man didn’t flinch, maybe because he wasn’t looking at him, but it didn’t change the fact that something was very fishy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not like it. Up until this moment they were </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> or at least in Jaskier’s mind </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> truthful to each other. They didn’t lie </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> it would be difficult, as they worked at the same place and now lived under the same roof, albeit temporarily </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and if somebody told Jaskier a couple of weeks ago that he would enjoy the quiet moments with Geralt, when they both sipped their morning coffees and focused on their work, he would have laughed out loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man in front of him seemed shady, hiding something from him. The last time that happened it turned out that the girl he was dating did so only to get the juiciest gossip and left when it turned out that his life was boring. He tried to explain that writing is different than song writing because it’s a more solitary job; you sit by yourself all day long, stare at the monitor and try to put the right words in the right order to make sentences and paragraphs and you’re lucky if you don’t hate your first draft with a power of a thousand suns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier narrowed his eyes as Geralt went around him and turned the coffee maker on, seemingly ignoring the other man’s stare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fine. If Geralt wanted to be petty, so could he.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier yawned again and stretched, the bones in his arms and neck popping into place. The silence in the kitchen also continued </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> Ciri was long gone for some school club that started before her morning lessons which baffled Jaskier but then again he did not like school very much </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> even as both of them made their coffees (black for Geralt with a teaspoon of sugar and black with a splash of milk for Jaskier). A thousand thoughts went through Jaskier’s head as he stirred his coffee, loudly, not glancing at the white-haired man. What was going on that Geralt didn’t want to discuss? Was it something connected with the review? Yennefer told him, explicitly, made him promise that he would not go and look on the internet. She was absolutely right: it was beneath him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still, as he sipped his coffee, totally ignoring the still too tense Geralt standing next to him, trying his own beverage, something gnawed at his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to clear his head, he thought, as he took another sip and winced because the coffee was still too hot. Jaskier placed the mug on an island and turned to his room </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> again with the ‘his’ </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> to get clothes and go shower. Showers always cleared his head and he almost always got the best ideas underneath them, but this time as the hot water hit his skin there was nothing he could do to not remember Geralt’s guilty look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dried and dressed in yet another concert t-shirt and black jeans, he cleaned his teeth as a plan formed in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Geralt looked so guilty something bad must have happened, so bad that even Gerlt didn’t want to tell him about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had to take matters into his own hands. He had to take a look, just a quick one, on the social media sites to see what the hell was going on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked out of the bathroom as a man with a purpose. He went to his room not even glancing at Geralt who was still standing in the kitchen, watching him closely, and fished out his phone. As he uninstalled all the apps in his phone there was no need to check it constantly and a few days ago he threw it onto the bed and forgot about it; it got tangled in the dark duvet and he found it with a celebratory smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He then logged on the website version of Twitter and froze. Ok, 99+ notifications, he could live with it. And by lived he meant ‘not look at them, ever’ but something caught his eyes. Even days after the review the people were still going, like a flood that couldn’t be stopped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a shitty thing to do @AlexTheAllAmerican throwing a reviewer under the bus bc you have awful sales? I 100% agree with @jaskierwrites your album is absolutely awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinked. Blinked again. Throwing under the bus? But the band didn’t comment on the review, they ignored it, as they did with all the bad reviews, but the girl </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> he assumed it was a girl because of the avatar with a k-pop star, but he could and probably was wrong </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> tagged the All American Band singer’s profile and not the band.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clicked on his @ and scrolled through the latest tweet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hit him suddenly, blood going cold, his whole body frozen. He read and scrolled, read and scrolled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That motherfucker,” he said, standing up from the bed he was lying on, whole body numb. “That motherfucker.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because who in their right mind, what artist with a following of five million </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> oh gods, Jaskier for a moment lost his ability to breathe because five million people could see this bullshit </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> went personally for one critic and blamed him and his review for a shitty sale of his album.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a piece of shit,” he said louder, walking out of the room, waving his phone in the air, fury visible on his face and in his voice. “Have you seen that piece of shit, he has five million followers Geralt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man didn’t even blink, didn’t even flinched; like a pro he assessed the situation, stood up from behind the kitchen island, walked to Jaskier and said, “I know you’re angry right now Jaskier, but reading more of his bullshit will not make it better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will…” Jaskier sputtered, lost for words. “He went personally after me and my review and </span>
  <em>
    <span>our paper</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you want me to be fucking clam?!” He almost screamed the last words, walking around the living room, from wall to wall, mind swirling with angry thoughts and words he would rather shout at All American Band’s frontman who was an utter fucking idiot. “Will not make it better,” he hissed, pointing an accusing finger at Geralt. “Of fucking course it will not make it better but at least I could write back that he fucking sucks!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As much as I would like to see and read that, you can’t. Yennefer already has released the paper’s lawyers and, I cannot believe I am saying this, you really need to lay low right now.” Said Geralt, calmly, stepping closer to the stomping Jaskier. “No, give me the phone Jaskier, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stopped, looking at Geralt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said, slowly, with purpose. “It’s mine and I can do whatever I want, even if it means writing a Twitter thread including all the deleted comparisons from the review. They were juicer than what went to the print if you need to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” said Geralt, stepping closer. “I don’t think that’s a good idea and you know it too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I? That idiot went after me, personally. Not after all the other one star reviews, no, he went after me, Geralt, and that’s fucking personal. And if he wants to get personal,” Jaskier was unlocking his phone, muttering under his nose. “Then he will get fucking personal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he even started to look for the browser icon a big hand covered the screen and he felt the phone being yanked away from his hand. Jaskier swore under his breath as he tried to maintain a grip but Gerlat was already holding the device high above his head as if he was a child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give that back, no!” He almost screamed, standing on his toes and trying to reach but Geralt’s other arm suddenly fell on his shoulder and damn, how much strength did the other man have if he could hold him in place just like that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” said Geralt through his teeth, his voice gravely and low. “Please, calm the fuck down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gaped at him, mouth open. ‘Calm down’ did he just say? He felt blood rushing to his cheeks and his ears getting redder despite Jaskier hating his body for doing so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beyond</span>
  </em>
  <span> calm, thank you very much. If he wasn’t he would he shit posting days ago, encouraging people to make memes out of his reviews and send them to the band, no he was completely and utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” said Geralt, eyes intent on the other man, calmness overflowing from his voice and his body, and suddenly, Jaskier was very, very aware how close they were. Almost chest to chest, almost too close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Yennefer is already doing her magic. Please, let her work. You and I both know that she will handle the situation the best out of both of us. Promise me that if I hand your phone back you will not make a million memes and write something to your thousands of Twitter followers, please,” said Geralt, still holding the phone high above.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier answered by nodding and biting on his lower lip and could swear that Geralt’s eyes flickered to the movement and immediately went back to peering into his eyes, as if the other man was embarrassed that they went there in the first place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt slowly lowered his hand and Jaskier immediately grabbing the phone, not even brushing Geralt’s but closing around it and was it Jaskier’s imagination but was the other man’s skin hotter to the touch? He wouldn’t know how it normally felt, obviously, but maybe…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I promise,” said Jaskier, quieter than he wanted, a little bit too breathlessly, eyes locked on Geralt’s. “That I will not shit post on Twitter and let Yennefer do her job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s all I wanted to hear,” answered Geralt after a beat of silence, and because he was the only one thinking in this situation and not swooning he did the most logical and obvious thing in this situation: he leaned in, slowly as if give Jaskier time to change his mind, and kissed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soft, was Jaskier’s first thought. Soft, and hot and kissing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of all people in the world. What a time to be alive! He didn’t even take under consideration the fact that he might be dreaming, he simply went with it, crumpling Geralt’s shirt in his left hand and holding him closer. Because he had no self control with his right hand he realised Geralt’s and held onto the other man’s back of the skull, white hair weaving through his long fingers, and wow, suddenly he was out of breath, his legs a wobbly jelly. Thankfully, Geralt was holding him close by the hips and as the first shy kiss led to another, open mouthed and definitely more horny, they somehow moved to the closest bedroom that there was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was never thankful for having a king sized bed as he was in the moment Geralt literally threw him on it as he started to undo his top buttons. As his whole brain started to shut off because holy shit, Geralt’s chest hair was fucking magnificent and his musles! (Yes, he might have started thinking in emojis, Jaskier was, after all, a simple man with simple needs), Jaskier yanked off his t-shirt and threw it on the ground, kneeling on the bed and moving towards still way too dressed Geralt </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> who was still in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and got to work, his nimble fingers popping buttons one by one, while he got working on Geralt’s neck because </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit this was happening</span>
  </em>
  <span>, mouth and tongue tracing the veins, kissing the Adam’s apple to the delicious vibration of the other man’s throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as Geralt’s shirt hit the ground Jaskier was suddenly manhandled, once again thrown on the bed and caught by ankles, shifted towards Geralt who was standing above him, in all of his upper chest glory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, fuck me,” said Jaskier under his nose as Geralt leaned in and said into his mouth, seconds before kissing him. “That’s what I intend to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kisses were iron hot, Jaskier’s hands on the back of Geralt’s neck and in his hair, clinging to them as the other man quickly unbuttoned Jaskier’s trousers and threw them behind him. Rough and calloused fingers traced his torso making Jaskier moan and shiver when they started playing with his nipples and then slowly, so slowly Jaskier started wiggling under Geralt’s touch and whimper into the kisses, the finger finally traced the line of his boxer, never even brushing his hard cock underneath them. Then, the fingers were replaced by hot lips and Jaskier moaned, throwing his head back as they moved lower, and lower, anticipation rising in his body as well as temperature in the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know,” said Geralt to Jaskier’s rib cage as he left wet kisses all over his torso. “How long have I been waiting for this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The answer was a long moan as Geralt’s tongue traced the way of the kisses, from bellybutton to the elastic of Jaskier’s boxers, which were then carefully </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and as everything Geralt did to the other man </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and very slowly removed, as if the white-haired man relished in the seconds that went by as he unwrapped Jaskier’s body from the confines of his clothes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier, on the other hand, had slightly different plans. He leaned in and grabbed Geralt by his belt and pulled him for another kiss, while unbuttoning his trousers and taking them off along with the underwear. After a few long and lazy kisses, that were only occasionally interrupted by a moan from both of them, as their fingers and hand got to know each other’s bodies a lot better, a lube and condom were found (“Do you have…” asked Geralt as Jaskier said at the same time “Inside pocket of my suitcase.”) and before Jaskier knew he was splayed on the bed, knees bend as Geralt slowly opened him with one finger, then two, kissing the base of his throat and collarbone, second hand slowly slicking Jaskier’s cock in leisurely motion that drove the younger man wild, to the point of hissing “Just fucking do it Geralt,” which earned him a throathy laugh and a dick twitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Geralt’s fingers were replaced by his cock, slicked and thick, Jaskier had to throw his head back and hold a scream in his throat because it was such a good kind of burn that made him whimper and ask for more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And more he got, and more he received as both bodies started rocking, room filling with the dirties curse words that fell from Jaskier’s tongue and lewd sounds of skin hitting skin. After a few minutes Jaskier opened his mouth but no sound came as he came on his stomach, then Geralt’s fingers tightened around his hips leaving bruisers for </span>
  <em>
    <span>days</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the other man also came with a grunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh wow,” said Jaskier, laying on the bed still sprawled, breathing heavily. “Why did we wait so long to do this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have wanted since the day we met, but…” Geralt started to say but Jaskier just turned to him and with the most shocked face </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> eyes wide, red from kissing lips opened wide </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> the white-haired man has ever seen said:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jaskier swatted at Geralt who through laughter was trying to kiss him, he asked again because surely he just misunderstood… “What the fuck, Geralt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other man flopped on his back, getting his breathing under control. “Yes, well. Since the day in the kitchen, do you remember…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I remember it perfectly, I was fucking mortified afterwards! I thought you hated me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did not. It’s just… I’m not really good with meeting new people and you’re young and handsome and…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oooh, you think I am handsome?” Cooed Jaskier which earned him only a raised brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway. Then I felt your stare on me,” at this Jaskier blushed and hid his face in his hands. Geralt gently grabbed him by the wristed and moved them away, kissed the back of them and then placed a gentle kiss on Jaskier’s lips. “And then I tried several times, but each time you had to run to catch your train or something. Only by stopping you after Parperuna’s concert I was able to finally get your phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” said Jaskier softly. “You could ask Triss or Yen and they would give it to you in a heartbeat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and then I would never hear the end of it. Wanted to ask you, personally. I think it worked out great, you know. Just wanted to start with dinner and not you sleeping in my guest bedroom… Which is fine,” Geralt added quickly, before Jaskier said anything. “Which is absolutely fine with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you can ask me out later. Or we can order something in and throw Ciri out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed at that, loudly, and Jaskier’s heart might have skipped a beat or two, or stopped working whatsoever for a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even thought his professional life was like a trashcan on fire, his personal life? Glowing and thriving, thank you very much. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>One year later</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the distant crowd he could catch a sign of ashen hair as Ciri bounced to the Parperuna’s music, jumping up and down like a ball. The evening was hot, way too hot in Jaskier’s opinion for dancing in front of a scene, but hey he was not a dedicated teenager, was he? So he watched from the side lines, his sunglasses secured in the left pocket of his striped green and blue button up shirt that went nicely with his black jeans. He was very happy with his outfit and it blended really well with all the festival goers: not too shabby but also not too chique. All around him people wore medieval dresses and linen shirts, more than a couple of girls had flower crowns and antlers for some reason and men wore pirate costumes, elaborate robes and whatever they wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And there, in the crowd of them, slowly striding toward him dressed in a leather jacket </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> it turned out he had three of them, all well worn and cherished </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> and holding two beer cups was Geralt, looking from behind his black sunglasses at the crowd singing along with Parperuna, the setting sun shining in his white hair. He stopped next to Jaskier, handed him a cold cup, his eyes never leaving the crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s fine,” said Jaskier, taking a sip of his beer which surprisingly wasn’t watered down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” answered Gerelt but Jaskier could see the tension in his shoulders. The listened in silence two of Parperuna’s songs from their newest album and just as another one started </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> a mournful song that Jaskier really liked and listened to a lot together with Ciri </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> Geralt leaned in and said “Are you here for the paper?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope!” Answered Jaskier brightly, standing a little bit taller. “I sent in the last piece yesterday evening, so today and the weekend and strictly for family time. Of course Yennefer told me that if I wanted to write a review of the festival I was free to do it, but…” he shrugged, as if declining wasn’t that big of a deal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” said Geralt, looking at Jaskier still wearing his sunglasses and the other man couldn’t quite say what kind of look he was giving him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The things I do for the people I love…” answered Jaskier, taking a sip of the beer and smiling at the cup as Geralt threw an arm around his shoulder and tugged him closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today, after the concert, they would go back to their hotel rooms with excited Ciri where they would eat dinner, maybe he and Geral would soak up in the gigantic tub they had in their bathroom, but for now, standing next to each other, they were enjoying one year anniversary with the band Ciri loved, Jaskier liked and Geralt didn’t hate.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for reading! I came up with this AU in, like, a minute since the thought of writing Geralt/Jaskier hit me. I'm really grateful for ALL your comments: they kept me going and I read them when my brain was particularly unresponsive to writing or coming up with plot.</p><p>Once again: THANK YOU! I love you all so much! &lt;3</p><p>If you want you can find me on Twitter @patrochilles7</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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